A young widow must choose between her past and her future when she returns to her hometown and is charmed by a sexy firefighter.
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Ruby Sinclair-Matthews never intended on moving back to the roll...
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At Mama's insistence, Mya and I spent the day with her in the garden, pulling weeds and tending to her prize-winning Blanc Double de Coubert rose bushes—seven glorious feet of velvety-green leaves with clusters of fragrant white blooms.
A day outdoors wasn't on my list of things to do, but I have to admit, physical labor in the baking sun with the lake breeze at our backs felt pretty damn good. Almost like a mini mental vacation. Afterward, I enjoy a shower and light dinner, and now my parents are with Mya while I run a few errands in town.
This is the first time in I don't know how long that I've been anywhere by myself—even in my own home. Back in Atlanta, a nanny watched the baby while Tommy and I went to work. And since we worked together, I wasn't even on my own during the ride to and from. Not that I'm complaining. Our lives were happy and full. It never once crossed my mind that I lacked time to myself.
Now, sitting in my SUV with an empty car seat in the back, the quiet hits me all at once.
And it's kind of...nice.
My breathing slows, my inhales and exhales growing longer and deeper as I draw air in through my nose and let it sail from my mouth in a soothing rhythm that hums through my chest. Tension leeches from my body as every muscle releases; my shoulders, back, arms, and legs. I wouldn't trade Mya for the world—she's the only part of Tommy I have left, especially since his parents moved to North Carolina a few years back. But having time to myself feels like a little slice of heaven.
The crouching sun winks between the oak trees as I take the scenic route around Lakeside to the store. With the windows unrolled and the breeze blowing through my hair, I feel alive and in control in a way I haven't in a long time. I take my time picking up a few necessities before making my way to the paint store, relieved that when I walk inside, I don't recognize the kid behind the counter mixing a tub of paint.
When he turns off the mixer, the container pauses and the machine goes quiet. "Good evening, ma'am. Is there anything I can help you with?"
I try not to cringe at the word ma'am. "Just lookin' at paint."
"Oil, or water-based?"
Daddy didn't say anything about that. "Honestly, I have no idea."
"Gloss, semi-gloss, satin, or eggshell?"
I shake my head, my ponytail swishing from side to side. "I think I'll just look at colors for now."
A big, toothy grin takes over his whole face, and the overhead lights gleam off his braces. "That's the fun part! Let me know if you need help."
"I will, thanks." I give him a polite nod and start at the far end of the store as every color known to man stares back at me.
This is going to be harder than I thought. When I reach the first display, my fingers trail over the usual grays, off-whites, and beiges, searching for a hue that's safe.
